The Venetian

by Mark Tricarico

  “This business of your brother’s death,” Francesco began, clearly uncomfortable, looking past Paolo.

  “My brother’s murder you mean,” Paolo interjected, emphasizing the word.

  “Yes, forgive me. Your brother’s murder. A tragedy. But what is to be gained by your…involvement?” Francesco was choosing his words carefully, but Paolo knew what the merchant was going to say before he had reconsidered—interference. He is fortunate to have changed his mind. He felt the anger growing, the color rising in his face.

  “Be careful Francesco. I appreciate what you have done by offering me employment during this very dark time, but do not overstep.” Paolo was angry, but another thought troubled him more—how does he know what I have been doing?

  Francesco’s eyes widened, surprised by the quiet menace in Paolo’s voice. Emotion was the enemy of business however and the merchant, accomplished in the art of commerce, quickly regained his composure. “Again I must apologize. I assure you I say this only out of friendship and respect.” He paused, waiting in vain for Paolo to soften. Francesco, agitated now, could not understand Paolo’s stubbornness. “Do you wish the Council of Ten to turn their eyes upon you and your father?” he asked with exasperation.

  “I appreciate your concern. But tell me Francesco, how is it that you know so much about the investigation into my brother’s murder?”

  Francesco seemed surprised by the question. “Surely you have heard the rumors yourself. Whether they are true or false, the State is involved, and thus so must be The Ten. And with The Ten, so I have heard, no stone remains unturned. It may only be the size of a pebble, incapable of hiding anything save a flea, but they will examine and inspect it, probe it until there is nothing left to know. And when they are done, sometimes even a stone is no longer a stone.”

  It was true. He had let his suspicions cloud his judgment. This business had left him unsure of everything and everyone. He had convinced himself that every dark corner held a villain. He prayed it wasn’t true, that he had only frightened himself, because the dark corners of Venice could not be counted.

  But yes, the rumors were everywhere. Venice was a town of gossip and blather, so much so that it was admissible in court, residents feeding on it, the more depraved the news, the more nourishing it seemed to be. Francesco was far more cunning than he let on. If he were somehow involved—and again Paolo hoped it was only his imagination—it would require no small amount of delicacy to uncover it.

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Perhaps not my friend, but we all have something to lose.”

  Why is he so interested? “The Ten are involved because they believe this is a matter of state security. So be it. I do not believe it, but I think it a good thing nonetheless. As you said yourself, they will leave no stone unturned. All the better. Had this investigation been entrusted to the local authorities, I would likely die of old age before knowing who murdered my brother.”

  Francesco shook his head, clearly dismayed. “Canever, forgive me, but you do not know of what you speak. It is best that you stay out of their way.”

  “It is too late for that Francesco. They have already come to see me.”

  “Yes, so you have told me. And perhaps they are satisfied with what you told them. Sometimes it is better to be seen and dismissed by The Ten than to endlessly worry over when they will discover you. And yet you continue to tempt fate. Mark my words Canever. You will place your head in the mouth of the lion one time too many.”

  This has gone on long enough. “Thank you for your concern Francesco.”

  Francesco knew he had failed to convince him. He looked at Paolo with heavy eyes. He had come to like the young man, and knew it was unwise to form any sort of attachment. It is difficult enough to worry about oneself in a world such as this. He sighed. “You are welcome Canever. I know he was your brother, your blood. And no man has the right to question another in matters of blood. But I would urge you to remember that there are still two members of your family that live and breathe. There is nothing you can do now to save a brother who is gone, but there is much you can do to save yourself and your father.”

  “My brother’s fate was unspeakable, and I cannot undo that. But I will not allow his memory to be defiled. I appreciate your concern Francesco, I do. But I ask you now, please do not speak of this to me again unless it is to help.” Paolo left, not waiting for a response.

  Francesco slumped back into his chair, drained by the effort of the futile exchange. He looked at his hands. They were trembling, whether from the conversation he just had or the one which was to come he did not know. Did it matter? His eyes fell on the desk, the ledger entries blurring into meaningless scratches. Is this what it is all for? He spoke softly, no one there, still afraid someone would hear. “And so it will begin.”

  Eighteen

  Francesco wished he had had some wine before coming. He was feeling the familiar chill that accompanied any contact with the vile man he was forced to work with. Gabriele he called himself. The circumstances of life created odd pairings. It was unfortunate that the accomplishment of important goals too often required alliances that were…distasteful. I am nothing like him, Francesco thought. But was it true? If Francesco were honest with himself, something he normally tried to avoid, would he not realize that perhaps they were more alike than he cared to admit? The man went about his business with a ruthlessness that Francesco found chilling. The merchant eased his conscience by telling himself that he could never behave in such a manner—depraved. And yet the conclusion of their business would carry with it the same result for both men, their goals achieved. The fact that Francesco would arrive there with jovial bluster made him no less guilty of treachery. Was it not true then that Gabriele was the more noble in a way? At least he made no show of being anything other than what he was.

  The big man sighed. This was no time for contemplating one’s morality. He had to steel himself for the encounter to come. Francesco had failed in his attempt to dissuade Paolo and knew Gabriele would not be pleased. In truth, what he feared more was that Gabriele would not be unhappy, that he would instead relish the task now required.

  Francesco crossed over the Rio delle Due, slipping down a dark alley behind the Teatro Vecchio. He found the unmarked door, hidden in the shadows, exactly where Gabriele said it would be. All of their previous meetings had been at night, but now it was midmorning. Francesco felt conspicuous. The door was unlocked, opening onto a narrow set of stairs. Although it was dark, Francesco could see that the walls were scarred like a battle-hardened face. Was there no structure in Venice that wasn’t? The staircase groaned, the sound loud in his ears. He was sweating now, felt himself on the verge of losing control. A wild fear suddenly took hold, a feeling that he was walking to his death. He stopped halfway up, placed a slick palm on the wall to steady himself. He closed his eyes, felt dizzy, and opened them again, afraid he would fall. He gulped air as quietly as he could, putting both hands on his temples, and felt the blood pounding in his head.

  “Francesco. I trust you have arrived.” He stopped, stood motionless on the stairs, holding his breath. He could hear the sneer in the voice, imagined the yellow smile. “Please, do join us.”

  Us? Absolute secrecy was critical to the success of their venture. How dare he reveal the nature of their association? This…creature would bring them to ruin. Francesco climbed the remainder of the stairs, fear supplanted by anger, irritation fueling him. He topped the staircase with a loud crunch, the wood beneath splintering.

  “Careful please Francesco. This structure has stood for hundreds of years. I do not wish to see it crumble due to your overzealous appetite.” Francesco reddened, heard a small snicker. Us.

  The staircase gave off onto a large, high-ceilinged room. On the far side, three tall windows were covered by dark cloth, holding the sunlight at bay. A small divan and two chairs had been placed in the center of the room, a low table between them. The two men, covered in shadow (always in s
hadow!), sat patiently in the chairs, the divan waiting for Francesco. He wondered if this was by design, to force him into an inferior station. Francesco’s weight did not easily permit positions of relaxation.

  “Francesco, please, join us.” Gabriele held out a hand, indicating the divan.

  Francesco remained standing, looking between the two men. He didn’t recognize their new associate. “Please Francesco,” Gabriele said with impatience, “I do not wish to strain my neck looking up at your bulk. Sit.”

  No snicker from their guest this time. While Gabriele had been harsh with Francesco before, he had never been insulting. This must be some show for the other man, to establish his position of power in this unholy trinity. So be it. Francesco sat, his curiosity getting the better of his anger.

  “Thank you,” Gabriele said with a sigh as though the request had been taxing. He remained silent for several moments. Francesco felt like a boy caught at something. He scanned the mostly empty room once more.

  “Do not concern yourself with the fact that we are meeting in daylight,” Gabriele said, guessing his thoughts. “We are quite safe here. There is no chance of intrusion. We use this place from time to time.” Francesco said nothing, waiting. Gabriele turned to the man next to him. “May I introduce Signore Bonifati.”

  The man nodded. Francesco could see the small smile—arrogance. Yes my friend, enjoy your feelings of self-importance. They will be fleeting. He does not yet know with whom he is dealing—with what he is dealing. He will learn soon enough, but by then it will be much too late.

  “Do not be alarmed Francesco. Though you sit in shadow I can feel your distress. It is like a smell on you. Signore Bonifati is an ally. He can be trusted. And he is in a position to perform certain services that are…required.”

  Francesco shifted uncomfortably on the divan. He spoke, his voice even, his manner unconcerned though he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. “And what services might those be?”

  “Why Francesco, I would think you would be able to guess. After all, had you succeeded in your task, we would have no need of Signore Bonifati’s services.” Francesco began to speak. Gabriele held up a hand, stopping him. “No need. In truth I did not expect you to succeed. But rest assured, it was not because I thought you lacking. No, I have seen that you can be quite persuasive. But our friend has exhibited more…determination than I had expected. So, a contingency plan.”

  Francesco waited.

  “As you and Avesari have become close, it is necessary for you to be informed. Signore Bonifati will swear to possessing personal knowledge of Signore Avesari’s involvement in the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his departed brother.”

  This Francesco had not expected. “I do not understand. His brother has not yet been implicated himself.”

  “Quite true, however should young Paolo be condemned, his brother will surely follow. And it will be—Ciro was it?—who will receive the superior end of the bargain. After all, it is far better to be charged with treason posthumously. One cannot be killed twice.”

  Francesco struggled to work through the logic. “But I am not sure such a course of action will have the desired effect.”

  “Come, come Francesco. Surely you do not think that I keep you informed of all that I do.” The mocking tone was fueling Francesco’s anger once more, the display for their new colleague not yet finished.

  “And what may I ask will Signore Bonifati receive in return for services rendered?” He recognized the name now, a once noble family fallen out of favor.

  “You may ask, however it is none of your concern.”

  He hadn’t expected an answer and it didn’t matter. Knowing who Bonifati was, Francesco could guess at the bargain that had been struck. Still he required a better sense of the purpose and desired outcome of this new plan. Whatever else he may be, he was a merchant, and a merchant does nothing by chance. “What do you hope to gain by this course of action? If Avesari is accused, he will surely deny it. Do you have any evidence beyond the word of a noble fallen on difficult times? Surely you understand that such testimony would be suspect.”

  This last statement was unnecessary Francesco knew, a childish bit of retribution for Bonifati’s earlier show of disrespect. In truth it wasn’t Bonifati’s fault. All was unfolding as Gabriele had planned, down to the snicker in the dark he had no doubt. He and Bonifati were merely puppets on a string.

  Gabriele sighed again, a sound that was beginning to enrage Francesco. He could not be crossed however, so it was an impotent rage, which made it all the more infuriating. He spoke with exaggerated patience, as though to a child. “Yes Francesco, of course he will deny it. But what will it matter? The accusation will have been made, and the stink of the traitor will be on him. His guilt or innocence will be of no consequence. He will be under suspicion and unable to continue his inquiries. And that will be most valuable.” Again Francesco moved to speak, and again Gabriele cut him off with a raised hand. “That is all Francesco. Should I find it necessary to pass along additional information, you will be contacted through the normal channels. You will leave now. Do not linger. Signore Bonifati will follow in a few moments.”

  Francesco rose, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the two men. He made his way back toward the narrow staircase. He didn’t look back, could hear nothing behind him, but knew their eyes were on him, the cold dread beginning to seep into his brain once more.

  ***

  “WILL HE DO as you instruct? He seems an unruly sort.”

  Gabriele turned to Bonifati. “My occasional disdain for Francesco serves a purpose, just as everything I do serves a purpose. Do not interpret contempt for the merchant as favor for you. Although I find him to be much too soft in his dealings, he has proved to be someone on which I may rely. I cannot say the same for you…yet.”

  Gabriele saw the look of surprise on Bonifati’s face. He smiled, shaking his head sadly at the simplicity of his new protégé. “Do you wish to trumpet the success of your little party? I did not require such an elaborate feast to establish the proper conditions with which to deal with the trader. It was a small matter which required little planning. No, that was simply to see if you had the stomach for what I require. On that count you did not disappoint, but you have done nothing yet. After all, a talent for hosting lavish affairs is hardly unique in Venice. No, you still have much to prove. I am not in the habit of restoring the fortunes of disgraced families without the proper…payment.” He stared silently at Bonifati, thoughtful, enjoying the other man’s discomfort. “Perhaps I have misjudged your usefulness.”

  Bonifati was slowly becoming wary of his part in all this, felt a chill scampering up his spine. He had heard people talk of the feeling before, thinking them theatrical, but no more. Here was a man who could deliver such a feeling with little more than a glance. He peered at the shadowy silhouette next to him. Only moments before the gloomy room had seemed full of intrigue, replaced now with something decidedly more perilous. Since the moment of their disgrace, the restoration of his family’s name had meant everything. No price had been too high to pay. Suddenly, Alessandro Bonifati wasn’t so sure.

  ***

  “YOU HAVE DONE well my friend. So well in fact that I would like to engage your skill and discretion once more.” The man hesitated, did not respond. “I trust you have found your compensation to be sufficient?”

  “Yes, more than sufficient.”

  “Good.” Gabriele made a show of lazily looking about the small dark room— another small dark room in another small dark house that he used now and again, before settling his gaze back on the man sitting opposite him. “But we both know this has nothing to do with money, do we not? Such a thing would be beneath men like us. No, this is about honor. And sacrifice.” With each word Gabriele’s gaze hardened, boring deeper into the man’s own eyes until he—easily twice Gabriele’s size—looked away. A knowing smile from Gabriele, barely noticeable. “So, may I count on you my friend, for the greater good?
”

  The man’s own gaze met Gabriele’s, now full of conviction. “Of course.”

  “Very good.” Gabriele shifted in his seat, seemed to relax now. “I have two more for you.”

  Nineteen

  They came at sunrise. Paolo was already awake, and had been for some time. He didn’t know when, or if, he would ever sleep peacefully again. There were three of them, Paolo recognizing the enormous man leading the small contingent as the one that had brought them to see the deputy, a night that now seemed to belong to another lifetime. So, it was to be the Council of Ten then. Very well. Perhaps there would finally be some answers.

  Equally intimidating were the other two, their muscled chests barely contained by their plain doublets, finely-honed daggers only just concealed in their breeches. They said nothing when they arrived and Paolo said nothing in return. There was no point. He had learned that lesson the first time. He would find out soon enough. He appreciated the fact that they chose not to make a show of it. If there was anything he had craved these last few weeks, it was anonymity. They wound their way toward the Doge’s Palace in tight formation, four enormous birds, the leader in front, Paolo directly behind, flanked by his escort. It was a little unnerving, Paolo feeling more like a prisoner than the brother of the victim.

  They walked in silence. Paolo listened to the sounds of Venice rousing from her slumber. The breeze off the canal was cold, the mild winter finally turning. The street merchants were setting up their stalls, the fishermen taking to their boats. Paolo suddenly wished to be one of them, a life of simple existence, taking only what the sea chose to give and being content with that. He had chafed at the shackles of his position as Canever, felt himself a failure for accepting it, and a coward for keeping it. Now he could only long for it, its chronic sameness, and he knew that he would never be back.